Forever is composed of Nows
by SiSuHu
Summary: (reposted it, because there was problems with the formatting) [Destiel] About need and want and about how far love can drive someone. (no particular place inside the actual timeline of the show); probably followed by one or maybe more spinoffs.
1. Chapter 1: Realization

**Chapter 1: Realization**

There you were. We were sitting on one of the chairs at one of the neatly arranged, dark wooden tables, with the little lamps on them, inside the bunker you call your home, the only real home you ever really had. And you were reading in a thick, old book. I can't remember, what it was about or why you were even reading it and what you hoped to find in it. I can only remember, that I liked to watch you doing it. Everyone says about you, that you don't care about books or reading itself, but that's not true. You read. Often. Sometimes hidden in your room, as if you were scared someone could see you differently than you like him to. You like to be this tough guy, the warrior, the hunter. Someone, who fights and saves, not someone, who reads and knows. I often wonder why. Maybe you give that role to your brother, maybe you feel like you're destined for something else. And maybe it's enough, that I know about it.

Your eyes moved across the old pages and a finger with them. It was quiet around us. And were we in fact together here, it felt like I would be the silent observer of the things you achieve. And I loved it and I still love it now. Even when you don't do a lot, one can still see so much. The way your lips soundlessly move along, whenever you read a sentence once more to understand its matter even better. The way you raise your eyebrows every now and then and one can practically sense the realization in your head in the air, as if it was something you can touch. And is it actually something so banal and small, but when Dean Winchester realizes something, for me it's like I would, too. I don't know its content, but I feel its presence like a glowing light in all the darkness.

It felt like I've been sitting there and watch you forever. And a small part of me wondered, why it didn't bother you. Or maybe you just didn't notice. But then again, you always notice when I'm staring at you. And most of the time you make sure I stop. You can't stand me doing it, and you don't seem to ever understand it. And still, I was staring at you and you let me continue. Forever. Even for me it was like forever. Centuries and millennials haven't felt as long as these single moments of quiet togethership.

" _Forever is composed of nows"_

 _(John Green, "Papertowns")_

And there it was. Whatever it was, you found it. You spread your arms a little and your eyes were wide open. And a smile of realization. The bright smile of win over a book, which had the purpose to be won over, and over surroundings, which didn't care what you won. Except for me. I did care. Didn't you hold my attention completely and alone before already, was it now so tense and fixed, that I didn't see anything but you, impatiently waiting for you sharing your realization with me. You looked at me, as if you just now remembered I was here as well, and your smile took over your entire face. Your eyes illuminated into mine and the little wrinkles around them immersed your face into a form it takes far too rarely.

" _That smile could end wars and cure cancer."_

 _(John Green, "An Abundance of Katherines")_

And I really think that. It's rare like a unique artifact or a treasure in the depths of the ocean. Or an angel, who has turned his back to all his tasks and duties and his home to follow a human, who couldn't do anything for him and still meant everything to him. Barely anything else is important for me. And could I do anything to see that smile every day and every minute, I would do it. And could I do anything to cause that smile, I would do it. But for the moment only realization and win could do that. And maybe one day you realize, that I am the win. That I am the one person on this planet, in this universe and in your world, who that smile should be directed at.


	2. Chapter 2: The good sentences

**Chapter 2: The good sentences**

I remember, how I was walking around in the hallways of your bunker. There's not so much else to do, when you're resting. At least I thought you were resting. As I came by your room, I noticed the half open door and saw you packing a few clothes and other things into your bag. I knocked on the door a couple of times quietly and stepped inside. You turned around, but then continued packing.

"Where are you going?" I asked and tried not to let too much of my fear of loss resound in my voice.

"I found a job for us," you answered randomly and your active motions and the fast movements made me nervous.

"A job?"

"Yeah. Looks like a ghoul"

"Ok," I gave, "where are we headed?"

You paused and looked at me with that gaze I can't stand. The avoiding eyes, which want everything, but look into mine. The half open mouth, which waits for words you still have to think about. And I appreciate it. I really appreciated it, that you try to say it in a way I won't misunderstand it or feel hurt. But at the same time I hate that gaze. Because every time I have to see it, I know you're about to say something to me I don't like. And I hate, that you say things I don't like. I hate, that you try to say it nicely, as if it was nothing. I hate, that there aren't only good sentences between us.

"Listen, Cas," you said, and I listened, "it's just a little job. We don't actually need you with this, Sam and I gonna handle it"

My heart was burning. Sam and you. Never would I be as important as Sam. Never would I mean as much to you. Never would I mean more to you. Sam is your brother and he is everything in this world that is good for you. I just wished, you would see, that I am everything in this world you need. I am the one you should have taken with you to that job. I am the one, who should have fought on your side. I am the one you should have needed. But I started realizing, that we weren't there yet. One day you would realize it. One day you would see it. And I nodded and left the room without a word. Because the mortification would have deformed my voice and painted the words I would have said in a dark color. And so I went away soundlessly, because even when you can't say good sentences every now and then, I want nothing else than to say good things to you.

I remember, how I was wandering around the hallways of your bunker again and felt completely useless. And I wished, I could disappear in one of those grey walls and, in my unimportantness, at least not burden anything. As if the ground was sick of having to carry me and the air of being breathed by me. But one day I would mean something to you. One day I would be useful and the ground would carry me and the air would love me.

I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder and stopped. As I turned around, I looked into your green eyes, which fixed me like they haven't ever wanted to avoid me. You must have followed me. And something inside me rejoiced and something inside me didn't dare to hope. Just to wait. I remember, how I eagerly anticipated what you would say, every fibre of my body tense and excited for the good sentences.

" _We all matter - maybe less than a lot, but always more than none."_

 _(John Green)_


	3. Chapter 3: Need

**Chapter 3: Need**

"Listen, Cas," you started anew, and again I listened, "that might just have come across in a wrong way"

"Which part? The we don't need you part, or the Sam and you part?" I gave back and I admit it was snappier than I intended to. Maybe I should have just listened to you and withstand my urge to say something. But I couldn't help myself, I had to, I wanted to. There was so much anger inside me, because you didn't want me with you. Because you don't need me. And I was so angry that you could leave me behind like that and be without me, while I was here and needed you and couldn't stand, that you didn't see, how much you need me, too.

"What is that supposed to mean?" you asked and your hand left my shoulder. The small hint of warmth staying behind felt like a silent reminder of the mistake I have made. The mistake to point out yours. I can't point it out to you, you have to find it out yourself, Dean. And inside I hated myself for this little inattentiveness. I should have shut up. Now I had to explain myself and that would be harder.

"I mean…," I began, not quite sure, where I wanted to go with it, but you interrupted me. Luckily. Because I didn't have a clue what to say.

"You have a problem with Sam?" you fired and something in your eyes seemed to hope for a fight. Whenever it's about Sam, you jump up like a watchdog, as if your existence was bound to his safety. Nobody is allowed to say or think anything bad about him. At least nobody but you. And I respect that. I respected it, because I knew, that one day I would be the one you will feel that way for. And even more. Because not only will you protect me the way you protect your brother, no, I will protect you. I will give you the safety usually no one gives you. I will be the one, the first one, who binds his existence to your safety.

"No, of course not," I answered naturally and your gaze changed from aggressive to asking, "I just don't understand, why I can't come with you"

Your eyes went soft and I felt like the winner of the conversation. Once again I have calmed you down and nipped your aggressiveness in the bud. Because that's what I do. I calm you down. I am here, when you need me, and even when you don't see it yet, you always need me. I am your peace pole. Your protector and your aggression filter. I take all your anger and your frustration and transform it into peace. And was I suddenly gone, you would realize it. And you would have taken me with you.

" _You need to know what is worth fighting for in this world."_

 _(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars"; free translation from German)_

"Cas," you started and I heard something like guilt in your voice, "Sam and I can handle it. If you absolutely insist on it, you can come, but…"

And I heard something in that "but". I can't really remember what it was, I think I didn't actually know back then either. But it sounded hesitant and as if it would say everything and at the same time nothing. As if it held something you can't word. At least not yet. And I wanted nothing more than to fight for accompanying you. I wanted to come with you, I didn't want to stay behind. But. Something in that "but" let me understand, that I shouldn't force it. I shouldn't intrude myself upon you, otherwise I would push you away.

"… but I'd prefer if you stayed here," you continued, after several moments of quiet silence, "so at least one of us is save"

" _(…) eyes looking back, like there was something in me worth seeing"_

 _(John Green, "Papertowns")_

You needed me save and who was I to deny you that. I would give you anything you need. Even when you need it to not need me. I knew, I would find another way to still be with you and watch over you. And to see what you were doing. I had to know you were alright, as long as you were gone. And I couldn't wait here, I had to see it with my own eyes.


	4. Chapter 4: Infinity

**Chapter 4: Infinity**

I remember, how I was standing there, safely hidden behind a tree near you room, close enough to be able to look through the window. Sam was sitting at a round wooden table in front of his laptop and seemed to be reading something out of an article to you. You were wandering around the room, your eyes sunken into the depths of the floor, your hand at you chin. You were pondering. Taking in the facts, turning and spinning them, until they made sense to you. You always do it like that. As if the steps would help you keep the motor of your thinking machine running and your hand holding the thoughts in the right place. I love to see you like that. See you unfold your potential, be more than a rough hunter and muscles and violence.

To me you are perfect. Perfect in all your movements, in your little tics and habits. You are perfect, when you fight, and perfect, when you think. Everything about you makes sense to me, and even only watching you makes me feel like I make sense, too. I am forever. I am a creature brought into being for eternity, hard to kill and easily alive. And I almost envy you for your mortality, because the appeal of life seems infinite, when you know that it's going to be over at some point. You are perfect in your imperfection. Complete in your incompleteness. And even when you won't exist anymore one day and I will still be wandering around and needing you, your complete perfection will live on inside me forever.

" _Perfection stands still, while mortals pass by."_

 _(John Green, "Papertowns"; free translation from German)_

Sam made a gesture that supposedly said ‚that's it', and you seemed to agree with his conclusion. Of course I could be standing in that room with you, invisibly listening to your conversations, invisibly feel your presence, invisibly sensing your scent. But I didn't want to violate your privacy any more. Hiding behind trees and observing you without you knowing seemed just as wrong, but it was the compromise I had to make to make sure you were okay. Sureness about your safety. That's what I need. Even when it's not about what I need, but only about what you need.

I remember, it felt like eternity. Everything feels like eternity in your presence. In a good kind of way. Like the wideness of space and the depth of a sky full of stars, like a field that ends into the horizon and seems to go on forever. Everything is infinite in my being. The infinite story of creation, of earth, of the world, of the universe. My story has always seemed infinite. And with you it seems even more infinite. As if the gruesome reality of a never ending being has finally gotten a sense to it by an ending life, which enriches mine. You are the first to make me be scared of an end. And at the same time you are the first to take all the fear for the end from me. Because everything feels eternal, everything is infinite and more infinite with you.

" _Some infinities are bigger than other infinities."_

 _(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars")_

Through the window I saw you packing, it seemed you were headed out. I decided not to be too harsh with me and allowed myself to get on the backseat of your beloved Impala. You wouldn't see me of course. You got inside and before you started the car, you took your phone.

"Who you texting?" Sam asked.

Without lifting your head and still wildly typing on the display, you answered, "Cas"

Sam looked at you with a strangely asking face that I didn't like.

"Why?"

Now, of course only after you have sent that message to me first, because apparently I was, in this particular moment, more important than your brother's eyes, you lifted your gaze and knitted your brows, as if you didn't understand the question. And I didn't understand it either. There's no Why here. Only a Because. A Because is absolutely enough. I am important. And my importance will someday be just as infinite to you as your existence is to me. You answered Sam's question with a simple whiz and I allow myself to take my phone out of the bag of my trench coat. Still invisible and unnoticed, of course.

\- _Hope u're ok. Almost done here. See u. P.S. don't u dare go into my room -_

And I remember my smile. Of course you didn't know, that I already knew every corner of your room inside out, every single object and every inch. Every impression, every thing and every moment in it has been taken in by me and saved, like you do it with information about monsters, as if it was my job to know all about you. As if you were my monster.


	5. Chapter 5: Perhaps

**Chapter 5: Perhaps**

\- _Found the ghoul's hide-out. Back soon -_

I love, that you send me these little texts. They seem short and meaningless, but for me they mean everything. You wouldn't have to keep me posted, but you still do it. With little messages. You avoided a "we" to not remind me of the fact, that you have chosen Sam over me. You told me about your success to share it with me. You made sure that I know you're going to be with me soon. Little reminders, which were meant to not let me forget, that I am important. Little regards, which seemed lost in the pool of conversation and words, but I will always find them. Just for me. Just for me you take the time for it.

Of course I couldn't let you anywhere near that ghoul. You could definitely cope with it and you had Sam by your side. But Sam isn't me. And Sam will never be able to protect you as good as I do. So I couldn't possibly lay your safety in his hands. And I couldn't risk it. So I did, what every reasonable man would do, and set you on the wrong track. Of course I am no man and of course you're smarter than this, and you would see through it sooner or later. At the latest when in your hide-out would be no evidence for a ghoul. But until then I would have taken care of it by myself.

Perhaps I went too far. Perhaps I should trust you more, not put it past you so much. But it wasn't about underestimation, I don't put anything past you. I would lay my life in your hands. Only that I will never put you in that position. And you shouldn't put me in this position as well. I wish you would take better care of yourself. I wish your life was as much worth to you as it is to me. Perhaps you wouldn't approve me having the drop on you in this, but perhaps I had to do it to know you were safe. I need you alive and when you don't take me with you to protect you by your side, I have to do it behind your back then. Perhaps I will be able to show you with my eyes. Perhaps all of it. And perhaps you will finally see it then.

" _The Great Perhaps was upon us, and we were invincible. The plan may have had faults, but we did not."_

 _(John Green, "Looking for Alaska")_

So I went to the real hide-out and made quick work of it. Further explanations are irrelevant, as that ghoul didn't mean a thing. I did it just for you. Meanwhile you and Sam were sneaking around at some graveyard nearby. Too easy. I knew from the beginning that Sam would see through this too obvious false front, admittedly not my best diversionary tactic. It's not even that Sam is smarter than you, Dean, it's just that he lacks that almost unblinded, beautiful trust. You take a hint for the very thing it is, an appeal, just go at it. Sam thinks too much. Sam sees too many doubts, in everything around him. You on the other hand are pure and logical and ready. And I love that.

Until then I didn't know, what had happened there, while I was being busy here, but I was already waiting for your arrival in the shadow of another tree. A pleased smile shaping my face, which nobody could see. And there you were. With your weapons ready and your gazes sharp. You have found the tomb, the real hide-out. You went inside and I followed you, invisibly after you like a predator, only that I am not. Admittedly a little proud of myself, I strutted after your steps unseen and was happy about the eliminated danger. There wouldn't be another fight here. No one would lay a finger on you. You were save. You stopped. In front of you on the concrete floor, afflicted by old leaves, a dead body.

"What the…," you breathed into the darkness. You gaze found first your brother and then me. Well, not really me, you couldn't see me. But my direction. You were looking around. But your face said everything but what I had hoped to see there: relief. Your eyes were searching for more and your gaze revealed unsettledness. Unsettledness! Why? The potential attacker, the monster of the week, the thing you should have and wanted to kill, was already dead. What was better than that? I have taken that heavy burden from you, but you looked little happy about it.

"Sam, what the hell?"

"I… I don't know, Dean"

And I searched. I searched for the mistake I had made. Why did you react like that? Why weren't you relieved? Why did you lay your hands on your head, like you always do, whenever you feel helpless, whenever you don't know what to do? Why did your fist hit the cold, dusty stonewalls and why did you shout "damn it"? I didn't understand the world anymore. I didn't understand you anymore. At least for the moment. Your hand rubbed across your face, while your eyes fixed on the dead body in front of you, with a look that didn't show success, but failure. And I realized: perhaps I missed something.

" _I go to seek a Great Perhaps"_

 _(John Green, "Looking for Alaska")_


	6. Chapter 6: Regret

**Chapter 6: Regret**

I remember, the metallic door of your bunker creaked and I found your concerned faces. With heavy steps you came down the stairs and already saw me sitting at the big, glowing table. My face drawn by a specious smile, acting, as if I didn't know anything. It was hard for me to hide, that I had been with you all along, because I wanted nothing more than to ask you, what I did wrong. Since the last message, just before you had searched for the ghoul and found the dead body in the tomb, you hadn't texted me. That had been four days ago. And hadn't I kept on following you, I would have sat here and worried. To keep up appearances I had called you a couple of times, but you hadn't answered.

"Hey," I threw into the room, as I stood up, as if I was relieved to see you. Of course I actually was, but not, because I had been worried. I knew you were save the whole time.

"Hey, Cas," Sam answered me, not you. You directly went towards your room and from the hallways I heard your door slamming. I followed you with my eyes and my confused face wasn't pretend. My gaze fell to Sam, who simpered.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Long story," he answered, "come on, let's have a drink and I fill you in"

I followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He told me about every detail. Things I already knew, things I just supposed, and things I didn't know. And inside me a big stain spread out, dark and almost painfully it took in everything in me and crushed me. Even only thinking about it now makes it grow again. I couldn't breathe. I had made a terrible mistake.

" _There has never been enough oxygen for me in the world, but in this moment I felt its shortness particularly"_

 _(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars"; free translation from German)_

The big realization over my colossal blindness towards the truth was overwhelming every fibre of my body. I hadn't known, but I could have seen it, hadn't I acted this overeagerly, without thinking twice about my steps. Caution is what I still need to learn.

Sam told me about having tracked down the ghoul, every step you had made. And I eagerly drank of my Scotch, which couldn't numb me, but I hoped the slight burn down my throat would distract me from the burn inside my chest. He told me how you had been searching at the wrong graveyard and I tried not to show anything. And then he told me about the woman, who I have killed for you, who wasn't the ghoul, but its latest victim. Feeding of people that are already dead seemed to be not enough for him anymore.

The realization over my failure and over what it meant caught me like my body would go into lockdown. I have killed an innocent woman. For you. Or perhaps even a little for myself.

"Well, that's unpleasant," I babbled. I was staring into my empty glass and thought about what to do now. Of course I couldn't tell either Sam or you, that I am the one, who had killed her. You thought the ghoul had killed her and left. And that's the only truth you needed now. You had failed saving someone, you didn't have to know that it was my fault. You needed someone now, who builds you up, not someone, who has betrayed you.

I poured another glass of Scotch. Only that it wasn't for me. It was for you. I raised it into Sam's view and told him that I would bring it to you. Slowly and maybe hesitantly I moved along the hallways towards your room. I cautiously knocked on your door and waited. I heard a quiet "come in" and did so. You were sitting on your bed and pulled off your heavy boots. You didn't even lift your eyes. And I told myself that it wasn't, because you didn't want to see anyone, but because you knew that it was me. I held the glass in front of you with a rough "here". After a few seconds, which felt like hours, you took it and your fingers touched mine a bit with that. You emptied it with one sip and gave it back to me.

"Dean," I dared, although I knew, that you're only this quiet, whenever you're angry enough to explode any moment. But you didn't. Your eyes found mine and I saw all the self-doubt and all the anger and the disappointment in them, which I hated to see. And something inside me was happy, that you didn't let it out on me, as if you would hold it back, like a shield that doesn't let me come into the crossfire. But something else inside me was worried, because if you keep it to yourself and hide it from me, it means that you don't trust me enough to share your emotions with me.

"Thanks, Cas," you finally said, but for a moment I didn't know for what, "for the Scotch, I mean"

I smiled at you and tried to hold the eye contact as long as possible. Your face relaxed a bit and I could sense you were feeling a little better. Because that's what I do. I make sure you feel better.

"I really needed that," you said, as if I hadn't known that already. I always know what you need, and when you need it. And even when I am the cause for this situation, I could still fix it. I couldn't revive that woman, but I could make sure, that you forget about it. And I was happy that you saw that I could do that.

" _The real heroes anyway aren't the people doing things; the real heroes are the people noticing things, paying attention."_

 _(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars")_


	7. Chapter 7: Watertight

**Chapter 7: Watertight**

I remember, how a couple of days later I was sitting in the kitchen. It was the middle of the night and quiet around me. I was rummaging in a bock about angels and while I was reading, I had to smile every now and then about the way the person, who has written this work a long time ago, speculated about heaven and hell, clearly he hasn't ever been there. Humans and their unlimited fantasy. They build a picture and even when they find evidence for the actual occurrences, their own aren't replaced, but only adjusted. Never could you put reality above your own creations. And in the end, you were created for just that. Created to create on your own.

I heard silent steps in the hallways and lifted my gaze. Little later I found you in the doorway, barefooted and in your grey sweatpants. Your naked chest stared at me, or maybe I was staring at it, as if there was nothing else in this room anymore. It was just skin, even when more of it than I was used to. But it was your skin. Your hand moved across your chest, as if it wanted to push away my look, and I concentrated back on your face.

"Hey," you said with a rough, sleepy voice, which matched your messy hair and your tired eyes. Only now you stepped inside and wandered towards the fridge. A snack in the middle of the night. It seemed to become our thing. Every night you would wake up and come to the kitchen. Every night you would sit down opposite to me and eat. Our own little routine. And really, it was the only reason I was sitting here.

"Hey," I answered and watched every of your movements. You sat down at the table and ate your peanut butter sandwich. It always was like that. Barely a word between us, only closeness. Our silent togethership. Sacred and secret, between the two of us. And you allowed me to look at you, almost stare even, and you didn't say a thing. You let me continue. Perhaps you had gotten used to it or perhaps you finally saw that you enjoyed it. I was here for you and because of you. And I saw you and only you. And perhaps you finally knew, that I am the only one, who sees you. Really sees you.

I stood up and went to pour you a glass of Scotch. I always did that, because I knew, it was what you needed. Your sleep is better, when your blood turns to alcohol. And even when one could say, that it's not good to support someone with that, I know what you need. And is it alcohol you need to sleep, I will always be the one, who gives it to you. Because one day you will realize, that I don't only give you what you want, but am what you want. I came back to the table and put the glass down in front of you. Your lifted your head and you looked at me with this gaze full of thankfulness and a smile that made me melt. I smiled back and tried to hold the eye contact for a while.

"Cas?" you then said, as your gaze moved down a bit and your hand suddenly held on to my trench coat and opened it a little, „What is that?"

My eyes looked down on me, while yours lost their smile. I understood why right away, because I found a small red stain on my shirt. Just a spot really, so little I had missed it.

"You injured?" you asked with all worry in your voice, I couldn't even be happy about it, because over sounded was all by the panic of being caught and this dark stain inside me, that was scared I would reveal anything, and so perfectly matched the stain of blood, that would reveal everything. Your fingers fumbled over my chest, as you stood up to inspect me.

"No, I'm fine," I answered and didn't dare to look you in the eyes. I noticed you were searching for them, maybe to find something inside there. But I couldn't show you. But maybe I should have let them pretend something, because I knew you get suspicious, when I can't look into your eyes.

"Cas?" you started anew, "Whose blood is that?"

I hesitated. I didn't know, what the hell I should answer. I couldn't tell you the truth. About how it was the blood of the innocent woman you had found. Who I had killed for you. By mistake. To hide the truth from you is easy, to lie to you impossible. I stared at the grey wall and thought about my next step. I knew, I had to say something, but which truth would it be this time?

"I… don't know…," I stammered, "Probably an old stain"

And I finally looked back into your eyes and you didn't believe a word and it crushed me. I was caught. I had to find a way out of this labyrinth I had built. A way to not lose you. A lie. A lie you would believe, a lie I could bear to tell you. And it would be hard. I couldn't even bear the look you threw at me in this very moment. As if all good had left you, as if I had disappointed you, as if you had lost.

" _Like each of us starts out as a watertight vessel. And then things happen - these people leave us, or don't love us, or don't get us, or we don't get them, and we lose and fail and hurt one another. And the vessel starts to crack in places. And I mean, yeah once the vessel cracks open, the end becomes inevitable."_

 _(John Green, "Papertowns")_


	8. Chapter 8: Oblivion

**Chapter 8: Oblivion**

I remember. Four days and three hours ago you had found the stain of blood on my shirt. I had said I didn't know, whose blood it was, and dismissed it. And even when you had had all the doubt in the world in your eyes, you had accepted it. At least for the moment. For four days and three hours now something was different between us. You only answered with short phrases to my words, actually you tried to avoid words in general. Every now and then I noticed you staring at me, whenever you thought I wouldn't see it. And you always looked away, when I stared back. You avoided eye contact, but I could see it. The idea inside you. Something was working in your head. Something doubted me. But the worst thing in all this was our routine. You broke our routine. Every night I sat in the kitchen and waited for you to get up and come to that very kitchen. For your snack. For your Scotch. For me and our togethership. But every night I remained alone.

" _I fear oblivion, (…) I fear it like the proverbial blind man who's afraid of the dark"_

 _(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars")_

I remember, when I was wandering around the hallways, how I did often these days. My little own pastime. Sometimes I wonder, if I had reached the point, where this was the only thing I could still do alone. Sometimes it scares me how important you are to me. And sometimes I wonder, if not really I am the one, who needs you, and not the other way around. And the wandering through the hallways of your bunker made all these thoughts more bearable and gave me the possibility to think about all the impossibilities. Without distraction and without you. So yes, it was the only thing I needed to do without you.

I came along the hallway, which ended in the big split hall, the entrance area with the big glowing table, where I had been sitting, when you had come back, and the other area, where I always watch you read. I heard you talk, couldn't make out the words, though. A smile formed on my face, because I hadn't heard so much of your voice in a long time.

"Hey," I said more cheerfully than planned and sat down at your table.

"Hey, Cas," your brother answered, not you. You were just staring into your phone and seemed to barely pay attention to me. Sam on the other hand sensed the tension in the air that threatened to set everything on fire. Like the quiet before the storm. Or as if a giant thunderstorm had descended upon us, only that the predictable fight hadn't taken place yet. I knew, you were having a thought, a bare accusation, which was lying on your tongue and was just waiting for you to word it. It was as if I was bound to a torture rack and looking at the instruments that would inflict pain on me. And somehow I hoped, you would finally use them. Because only then I would know, how deep they really cut.

"So uhm, Cas…," Sam began and just now I remembered again, that he was here, too. I looked at him and waited. But there followed… nothing. His gaze moved to you and I saw how you practically tried to make him understand telepathically, that he should say something. But he didn't. A deep sigh pushed out of your lungs.

"Whose blood was it, Cas?" you suddenly asked and I noticed how hard you tried to stay calm. It sounded like pressure, but it felt like a rhetorical question. As if you already knew the answer and just asked out of politeness. But in your eyes I found something like hope. Hope to be wrong. And it crushed me, that I couldn't seem to be able to give you this one thing you needed. Something simple as a new shirt could have prevented all this. And I hated my inattentiveness and I hated my mistake. But I had made it and I had to handle it. If only I knew how.

"I don't understand," I almost stammered.

"Answer the question," you fired and your voice became angrier and your eyes lost their hope. I stared at my hands, then I closed my lids, as if to hope, would I not see it, it wouldn't happen. I sighed and decided honesty was the only way out of the labyrinth.

"The woman," I only said and literally felt your heart skipping a beat. It didn't need more, you knew right away who I meant. I had broken your hope and lived up to your expectation. And I told myself, it was all going to be okay, and I told myself, I would work through your disappointment. I would do everything and you would see it. You would forgive me and it would all be like it had used to be. You would answer me again and send me these little texts, when you're away, and you would renew our routine and come to me at night. And our togethership would go on.

"Why?" you asked after too many moments of silence, while the air hang heavily and the time seemed to stand still.

"It was a misunderstanding, Dean," I answered with a voice so little and quiet, I was afraid you couldn't hear it.

"A misunderstanding?"

"I thought she was the ghoul, Dean"

"You thought? Since when is that our way of dealing with things, Cas?"

"I…," I began, but you interrupted me. And I finally saw all the instruments and felt the whole depth of their cuts. I had failed so badly.

"Cas, apart from…," and you stopped yourself for a second to breathe and to not get loud, „… apart from the fact that you killed an innocent woman, the VICTIM, Cas, apart from you having failed colossally. Why the hell were you even there?!"

And I thought and I thought about it. I was there for you. I was there for your safety. I was there to protect you. I wasn't there to be given credit for it, because I don't do all that for me. I do it for you. And I failed. For a moment I had really failed colossally.

"I followed you," I said quietly.

"You followed us?!"

"Dean, I…"

"Why?!"

"I just wanted to make sure you…," and before I said it, I swallowed it and knew I had to say it differently, "… you two are okay"

"We don't need a babysitter," and I just now wondered, where Sam was in this conversation. Silently and apparently voiceless, he was sitting to our opposite and followed our words with his eyes, without ever commenting on any of them. I almost wanted to force him to take part, but he probably wouldn't be on my side anyway.

"Dean"

"You can't just follow us like a goddamn stalker"

"Dean"

"And you can't walk around killing innocents, just because you 'think' they're some monsters"

"Dean," and it was as if I hoped, the more I repeated your name, the less you would blame on me. But the opposite seemed to be the case.

"We were handling it, until you showed up and screwed it all up like a fucking idiot"

"Dean"

"Cas!" you suddenly screamed far too loud and I winced, "Someone died. And all because of you"

"I know," I whispered and stood up, "I should go"

And I hoped, you would stop me, but all I heard was silence. Your look like stone and your eyes like fire. And suddenly it was gone, the dark stain of lie inside me, that had threatened to devour all of me. And I knew, it was the truth that had rescued me. And I hoped, you would forget about it. And forgive me.

"You can stay," you said out of nowhere, "but I don't wanna see you."

Slowly I moved back into the hallways of your bunker. I was still welcome, and at the same time completely invisible. I don't know what was worse, the fact that I had disappointed you, or that you didn't want to see me. And I promised to myself to never make a mistake like that again. And I told myself, that everything was going to be fine. You would forgive me. You would forget about it. You would want to see me. There would come a day, I didn't know yet, how far away it was, but there would come a day you would miss me.

" _It is saying these things that keeps us from falling apart. And maybe by imagining these futures we can make them real, and maybe not, but either way we must imagine them."_

 _(John Green, "Papertowns")_


	9. Chapter 9: Choose

**Chapter 9: Choose**

There you were. You were sitting on one of the chairs at one of the neatly arranged, dark wooden tables, with the little lamps on them, inside the bunker you call your home. And you were reading in a thick, old book. I liked watching you. Your eyes were moving across the pages and it was quiet around us. I was the silent observer of the things you achieve. I felt the presence of your realization in the air and it was as if I had it, too. And I still loved it. But something had changed. I was only that now, only the observer, nothing else.

It felt as if I had been sitting there forever. My forever in your presence. But it was not our togethership anymore. It was apartship. I felt how it bothered you, how you noticed my looks on you and every moment you would cut them off. You wouldn't let me continue. You didn't understand it. Still. And it was, as if you didn't even want to understand it anymore.

I waited for a rough "Cas" to stop me, maybe even hoped for it, because it didn't matter what you would say, at least your would talk to me at all. But instead you lifted your head and stared me down, with a look full of accusation and maybe something like disrespect. Your eyes bore into mine and it didn't take forever, until I couldn't bear it any longer. I looked away, ashamed and defeated. But I still cared about you and I wanted to have a part in you. And so I tried to see without using my eyes. I heard your breathing and watched your heartbeat. Felt your presence, sensed your scent in the air around me. And it was almost enough.

I would have given anything for your smile. Your smile that could end wars and cure cancer. The unique artifact, the treasure in the depths of the ocean. Your smile that was all I seemed to be, because it was all that had a meaning. And could I do anything to see that smile every day and every minute, I would do it. And could I do anything to ever make you smile at me again, I would do it. But for the moment I couldn't. I had to wait. Practice patience and let you go, with the hope you would come back.

And all my hope was built by only and alone the fact that you let me sit here. I wasn't allowed to stare at you or watch you, but I was allowed to sit here. In your field of vision. It had taken me days to even dare to, but here I was. You could see me. And even when you didn't want to, you let me. It was just a small win, tiny really, but it was a step in the right direction. Because each step is followed by further, and at the end of the road you would have forgiven me.

I know, it was my fault we had reached this point, but it still felt like an eternal reminder of my failure. It hurt, your rejection. The way you looked at me, if you even payed attention to me at all. I was Nothing and I had to become Something again. And even when it hurt me, I was still sure you're the only one I want to be hurt by.

" _You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world (…), but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices."_

 _(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars")_

You closed your book and stood up. I wanted to be part of your realization, but you wouldn't talk to me. You went away, I didn't know where. I wanted to come with you, but you wouldn't let me. So I waited, until you disappeared in the hallways, and decided to follow you, invisibly. I'm not proud of it, but I had to be with you. And wouldn't you accept me by your side, I would have to do it behind your back.

You went to the kitchen, which held all the memories of our routine in it, but no longer vivid and actual, but dead and buried. Sam was sitting in front of his laptop and seemed to do some research. He looked up and seemed almost surprised to see you.

"Hey," he threw into the room and got a nod.

After you had been wandering around the room for a bit, like I still do it from time to time in the hallways, he cleared his throat and closed his computer. His hands folding in front of him on the table, as if he prayed for getting anything out of you this time. Because you're a pit with a false bottom, you talk and say, but one never really seems to find out everything.

"So," Sam began anew, "how's things with Cas?"

You threw him a meaningful look and snort went out of you, as if to let go some of the tension.

"What you think…," you answered.

"You know," your brother gave, with a dramatic pause, which told everyone, who knew him, that he was about to say something important, "I know he made a mistake"

"One hell of a mistake," you interrupted him.

"Yeah, one hell of a mistake. But…"

"He killed someone, Sam"

"I know, I know. But, Dean… it's Cas we're talking about"

"So?" you said, as if my name didn't mean anything. My heart was burning and my soul crying. I am Cas and you are Dean, we're meant to be together. Everyone knows that. Your brother knew. Why didn't you know?

"So… come on, Dean, you know you can't stay mad at him forever"

"Why not?" and I had a thousand reasons why not, minimum. The urge to storm in and shout each and every one of them into your eyes became so big, I was barely able to withstand it. But I had to stay calm. Unseen and undisappointing. Because you didn't want me to follow you, and couldn't I fulfill that wish directly, I still had to fulfill it inside your knowledge.

"Because it's Cas, Dean," your brother said, as if it was the only reason ever needed, "Cas and you, you're… you're so close. You can't just lock him out like that. You need him, you know that"

And you were thinking about it and for a moment it seemed like you would understand. But then you said, "I don't need him," and my guts began to spin painfully by this colossal lie you dared to say out loud just like that, "He needs me"

" _I didn't need you, you idiot. I picked you. And then you picked me back."_

 _(John Green, "Papertowns")_


	10. Chapter 10: Quiet

**Chapter 10: Quiet**

I remember. Another couple of days had passed. We still didn't have back much of our old form. Almost nothing even. I was free to move around in your bunker, who sometimes felt like a prison to me. But I didn't want out, escape or run away. Inside these grey walls, in which I sometimes wanted to disappear just to be able to think about how to make myself visible for you, I wanted my freedom back. The freedom to be bound to you, and know you bound to me. But we weren't there yet. I was still welcome, but not yet could you forgive me. And sometimes I wondered, if you were right. Maybe I needed you. But maybe you needed me, too. You still didn't see it, but you would.

I was sitting in the kitchen. Our place, at our time. Night after night, studying books that weren't even near as interesting as your peanut butter sandwiches. I respected your decision not to come anymore, because I knew one day we would restore our togethership. I would watch you and protect you and nip your aggressiveness in the bud. I was still your peace pole, I always will be, and no mistake in the world could ever change anything about that. And perhaps I was lost without you, perhaps I was sailing aimlessly like a boat without paddles, but at least I knew what is worth fighting for. I wouldn't push it, or force it, I would just wait here quietly, until you would be ready to look at me again, as if there was something in me worth seeing.

And even in your bitter disrespect for me, you were perfect. And I believed to have enough respect for both of us, and all of me made sense, because I had. I am created for eternity, and even when our We was currently threatening to die, we were still forever. Like the wideness of space and the depth of a sky full of stars and like a field that ends into the horizon and seems to go on forever. Of course I was afraid of the end. But our infinity was still big enough to be infinite. A little flame only, at the moment, maybe even just a tiny spark. But it was burning.

I remember, how I was sitting there and turned the pages of whatever book, as the air in the kitchen seemed to have changed suddenly. I lifted my head and found you in the middle of the room. Your eyes said it all, just not why you were here. And I wasn't sure, if you were here because of me, or despite me. It was as if it was all wrong between us, as if the world had fallen into an imbalance it couldn't handle, and chaos ruled and I couldn't read you as I used to.

You got yourself a glass and thoughtfully filled it with your favorite Scotch. I knew it was your favorite, because I know everything about you, and I had bought it for you. I stared at you and didn't care I wasn't allowed to. I couldn't see your face, but even your back told me, that you tried hard to hide your feelings from me. A secret hide-out, maybe a tree in your inside I couldn't see behind. And when you turned around, I saw your mask. You acted as if nothing had ever happened, as if it was all fine, or even worse, as if nothing of it mattered. The perfection of your pretend indifference hit me like the proverbial flash the unlucky man. And could I usually admire even this one talent of yours, I now only admired your absolute quiet.

" _I've always liked quiet people. You never know if they're dancing in a daydream or if they're carrying the weight of the world."_

 _(John Green)_

Against all my expectations, you sat down at the table. You took a big sip out of your glass and looked at me. Really looked at me. Into my eyes. And it almost felt like the cut of a knife, like the big pain that demands to be felt. You grabbed for the book in front of me, eyeballed the cover for a second, turned some pages, with your eyes like a scanner that tried to find a reason for why I read it. You threw it back to me onto the table, almost too loud for all the silence. You gave me another look, raised your eyebrows, as if you wanted to ask a question. But you didn't say a word. The quiet over us like a dark cloud that couldn't manage to rain. I wasn't sure, if it would ever rain between us again, but I was sure, that all the rain in the world was better than no weather at all.

" _I'm starting to realize that people lack good mirrors. It's hard for anyone to show us how we look, and so hard for us to show anyone how we feel."_

 _(John Green, "Papertowns")_


	11. Chapter 11: Knowing

**Chapter 11: Knowing**

" _Without pain, how could we know joy?"_

 _(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars")_

And I really had pain. All your absence and all your quiet, whenever we were together, it crushed me like a minor bug. And I still looked forwards, to the future, imagined it and thought of all the things we could achieve. And when I wasn't dreaming, I tried to observe you, like I always did. A recurring event that, in all the uncertainty, gave me a little bit of stability.

I remember, how you were eating a sandwich and your gaze every now and then flying across the room to me, as if you wanted to make me understand with your eyes, that I should stop watching you. But nothing kept me from doing it. And every time I gave you a cautious smile, but never got one back from you. We still hadn't talked and I wished for nothing more than for the desired rain between us. The big storm that would desolate it all, and after which we would finally be us. The silence swallowed me. And it scared me.

" _Scared isn't a good excuse. Scared is the excuse everyone has always used."_

 _(John Green, "Looking for Alaska")_

I stood up. Perhaps I hoped for you to be surprised. But you were absorbed in your food and every single molecule of its taste. And that was okay, because I know how much you love to eat. Even when every fibre of my body wanted to stay, I knew I had to go. Not for you. For myself. There were thoughts to be thought and feelings to be felt. There were things I had to do. Important things. And I had to do all of it alone. Who knows, maybe your current pretend indifference was big enough for you to not care about it, but maybe it was little enough to alienate you even more. Because you wouldn't like them and I wasn't ready to explain to you what you don't understand. Because there are things you didn't need to know about, things I did for you, and only for you. And in the end, we all have things we hold on to, things we want no one to know about. Then again, there's always someone, who knows.

I wandered into my hallways of your bunker and disappeared. And it doesn't matter, where I was or where I went. It doesn't matter, what I did. It doesn't matter, how I felt, that my heart was burning and my soul bleeding like an injured dog. It only matters, that I did it for you. Your life is good, since I am in it, because everything I do is make it good. I give you the time to read, sometimes maybe hidden in your room. I give you the chance to enjoy your food unhurriedly. I give you the time to sleep.

Sometimes I would come into your room at night and see your nightmares, the pain of your memories that invade your dreams like the enemy. And then I would lay my hand on your forehead and make it easier for you. I cast out the enemy. And you don't know about all that. And was I currently injured by the war I'm fighting in your name, nothing made me stronger than knowing, that the rain would come and the time after would heal it all. Because only in the bad times we know how good our lives are. And I saw, that the only way out of the labyrinth was through. Through the pain and out of it.

" _Pain demands to be felt."_

 _(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars")_

As I came back, completely unnoticed even my absence, and strayed along the hallways, touching the grey walls with my hand, as if I had missed them, I felt you were close. Just then you were standing in front of me and stopped. I was in the way. You stared into my eyes and something of your mask seemed to crumble. It was like the spring, when you're outside and notice the scent of wet grass in the air, and you feel the light breeze becoming wind and how the sun slowly hides away. The rain was coming, and I could feel it.

"Dean," I dared. Your green eyes bore into my conscious and your gaze got darker, as if you just now decided, that your patience had reached its inevitable end.

"Go out of my way," you said with so much force, I feared my face would show, how hard it was for me to breathe, "… please"

"Dean," I said again, as if it was the only word I knew.

"Cas, I…," you started, when your hand moved across your face, as if you hoped you could put your mask back on, "… I don't wanna talk about it now"

"But I do," I whispered.

"Good for you," and when you tried to push past me, my hand at your chest stopped you. You tried to get off, but your human muscles didn't really stand a chance against my inhuman power.

"Dean," I repeated anew, and you gave up. And for a moment I wondered, if I fought this war not for you, but against you. Again your eyes got a hold of me, and all your anger and all your pain. But sometimes, when something is important, and makes us feel alive, it hurts just as much to fix it as it does to lose it.

"I am sorry," I said, as if you didn't know already, "I have made a mistake. Please don't punish me for it forever"

"A mistake?" you answered and your brows hurled upwards, like they always do, whenever someone says something completely stupid, "Drinking out of the wrong glass is a mistake. Killing an innocent woman is a little something more else"

"I had to protect you," I breathed into the air, like the end of the rope I was latching onto, as if my life depended on it. Like the string everything was dangling on.

"Well, you didn't!" you threw back, "And I don't need you to protect me"

"Of course you need me"

"Yeah, I need you," you said, and I almost found something like meaning in your voice, "You as a person. You as Cas, the Cas I know. But I can't have you stalking around and kill the wrong people for me, that's not what I need. I need you to be here. When everything blows up and goes to the dogs, and when we don't know what to do and when the wrong people get hurt by people, who are wrong. And you, you're not wrong, and I want you to remember that"

And there was nothing that would stop me from doing that, and no one I would rather do it with.


	12. Chapter 12: Options

**Chapter 12: Options**

I remember, how I was sitting in the kitchen again. It was late and this time there was no book in front of me on the table, but a cup of coffee. It didn't really have any effect on me, but I had learnt to love its bittersweet taste. One could argue, that love means to love it from the start, that growing to love something was the same thing as forgetting about what you don't love about it, but I don't see it in that way. Because for I had felt our connection from the start, I am not sure, if you feel the same way. I think you grew to see that connection. And how can I doubt something so wonderful?

I heard your naked feet on the cold ground and soon found you in the doorway. Your body covered by your grey bathrobe. Good, because too much of your skin would probably be far too much for my tempted eyes. We slowly found us back, and even when it sometimes felt somehow sluggish, short steps, no matter how long they took, were still better than no movement at all.

"What you're drinking coffee for?" you asked slightly amused and a smile sneaked onto my lips.

"I like the taste of it," I answered. And there it was. Your smile. I had won it back, and it took me over, and it felt like I would grow with it. To full extend of myself. Because you make me great and you make me be the best me I can be.

You sat down opposite to me. No peanut butter sandwich, no Scotch. And I wondered, if you didn't want to repeat our routine, or if you just didn't need any of it, because I alone was enough for you for the night. Perhaps I was scared. I don't know, if I was more scared of you maybe not wanting to be Us anymore, or of me not being able to be enough for you. Perhaps I am, in fact, not enough. But perhaps I am still all you need. Perhaps that fear made me stand up and pour you a glass. You took it, and perhaps I was happy you still wanted what I had to give, even when it was just a tiny, meaningless gesture. I watched you drink, your hands, how they held the glass, as if they hadn't ever done anything else, your eyes, how they closed, as if you were only able to unfold the full potential of its taste like that, your throat and its swallowing movements, the skin so raw and covered in stubble, and still in its movements so soft and beautiful, and your coated lips, after you put down the glass, and your tongue, how it slid over them.

"Are we good?" I had to ask, as I found something in your eyes that shook me out of my daydream.

"Well…," you answered hesitantly and stared at your hands, which clenched the glass like the proverbial sheet anchor, "… not entirely. But mostly."

I wanted to say something. Something that would make it all right again, something that would make you forget about it, so you could forgive me. Something that would make us Us again. Us, who are sitting around in the kitchen by night without any worries and drink Scotch and eat peanut butter sandwiches and make fun of everyone, who's not us. But there didn't come a single word to my mind that could do that. And so I decided to just sit here, without sandwich, without Scotch in my hand, only coffee, and only half of you inside our togethership. As if you had one foot in and one foot out, just to make sure.

" _The only way out of this labyrinth of suffering is to forgive."_

 _(John Green, "Looking for Alaska")_

"You know," you started anew after a while, "there's something I need to know"

"And what's that?"

You paused for a moment, as if to just now still think about it yourself what exactly it was. And then you asked, "How long?", and I had only a foggy idea what you were referring to.

"What you mean?"

"For how long have you been following us… me?" you wanted to know, and for a minute I thought about presenting the entire truth to you. Honesty as the solid basis of our new We, just as stable as your bunker around us. But I couldn't give you what you wanted. Not yet. You weren't ready yet to learn about it all, to understand the whole big meaning of my actions. So I clouded that truth as good as I could, because lie to you I could not.

"I followed you this one time," I answered and avoided knowingly the "only" in it. It wasn't lied, I had really followed you this one time. Just not _only_ this one time. I knew you're smart, but not clever enough to see through this simple case of semantic. Maybe even too loyal, too trusting, too bound to doubt me.

"Okay," you just said and I could literally feel you let it go. And it didn't only free your shoulders from the invisible burden, but mine also.

Sometimes I regret to not tell you everything. And sometimes it feels like the dark I keep you in would swallow me, like a monster that makes one out of me, too. But whenever I doubt myself and my actions, I remember I do all this for you, and that I can't be a monster, while you improve me and make me be the best me I can be. And sometimes improvement hurts, like a needle, which makes imaginary stitches that patch cracks in our soul. Because life is cruel, no matter where you live it and with whom.

" _As much as life can suck, it always beats the alternative."_

 _(John Green, "Papertowns")_


	13. Chapter 13: Seeing

**Chapter 13: Seeing**

It was very early in the morning, when I, leaning against a wall, was standing in your room. Outside the sunrise just began and it dipped the light in a glowing pink that couldn't reach your room without windows. I made a few steps through the room and eyeballed your things. The weapons on the wall, which you had hung up there as some kind of decoration, as if you loved them, as if they were what you find beautiful. And probably there was a part of you that actually valued them, this collection of tools, which are made to kill, or at least to hurt. That part desired them, watched them, took care of them like they were children, like they were worth something. But I know, even when you are undeniably good at it, you're not destined to kill. You're destined to save. And even when those weapons are a necessary instrument for that, you don't need them to save me.

I kept on wandering around and found the few photographs on your table. The picture of you and Mary. You were so little and innocent on it. Hadn't known, what would come, what burden would be put upon you. You hadn't even known about all the monsters there were in the world. You hadn't known about me. And still, you had known about angels and that they would watch over you, because your mother had told you every night before you had gone to sleep. And here I was and watched over you.

I went on and took John's diary. Felt its brown leather cover and the weight of the pages, which hold so much history inside them. And just when I wanted to open it, like I do it every now and then to remember all the things I know about you and your family, I sensed your breathing changing and your body moving. I winced, put back the book hastily and disguised my presence with invisibility. I would scare you to death, would you open your eyes and find me in the middle of your room. You sat up and looked around. I found insecurity in your eyes, even when it was too dark to really interpret it. I sensed you had the feeling someone was here, the fear that flared up inside you for a little moment. But you shook it off and dared to have a look at the clock. One minute after six.

" _True terror isn't being scared; it's not having a choice on the matter."_

 _(John Green, "Turtles all the Way Down")_

And I didn't, and still don't. I have no other choice than to watch over you, like your mother has promised to you. A promise must be kept, even when I am not the one, who's made it. I have to do everything, know everything about you, learn everything about you, because only then, I think, can I be the protector you need and deserve. I admit, it's not the whole truth. I enjoy watching you, no, I love it even. And I have this feeling inside of me, it's hard to explain. A feeling that demands to be with you, that demands to be a part of you. Like a drug it pushes me and demands for more and even more, and I don't have the strength and even less the will to withstand it. Because you are my monster, and I need to study you. And I need your closeness like I need air to breathe. And so you're right after all. I need you.

I am not sure, if I know what love is. But if I had a vision of it, perhaps a small idea or an assembled puzzle out of experiences and observations I had made, had I all of that, I would fear that it is you. And if I had the courage to quicken it all, to fast-forward our story to see, where it went, and did I know what I had to do for that, I would have done it. But then again, sometimes the road is much more beautiful than the finish line. And so I observed your story and saw how I was able to become a part of it, and I realized, that everything I did, as horrible as it sometimes was, and as much you would hate me for it, if you knew, was right, and fantastic. Because I have seen the road and changed it in a way that made you go it right. Like signs, which lead you to the right direction, like guideposts, which made your road better.

" _I was beginning to learn that your life is a story told about you, not one that you tell. Of course, you pretend to be the author. You have to. (…) You think that you're the painter, but you're the canvas."_

 _(John Green, "Turtles All the Way Down")_

You rubbed your eyes and got up. Sleepily you slurped into the hallways and towards the kitchen. You would get yourself coffee and start the day how I latterly ended it. With a bittersweet taste on your tongue. I followed you unnoticed and found you in that very kitchen, stopping, as if you searched for something.

"Cas?" you breathed into the room with a gravely voice.

"Cas?" a bit louder. I did a few steps backwards into the hallways, made myself visible, first for the world, then for you.

"Yes?" I said, as if I just now appeared here. You turned around and the corners of your mouth winced, as if you held back a smile.

"Coffee?" you asked after a couple of seconds.

"Yes"

You turned on the coffeemaker and got two cups out of one of the cupboards. As we sat down at the table, our gazes met again and the green of your eyes took hold of me, like it does every day. You stared at me, but didn't stare me down, but into me. At least that's what it felt like. And it was as if I finally saw all of you, as if I could see directly into your head, into your soul, into every single of your molecules. And it was, as if you could, too.

" _I mean, anybody can look at you. It's quite rare to find someone who sees the same world you see."_

 _(John Green, "Turtles All the Way Down")_


	14. Chapter 14: Fiction

**Chapter 14: Fiction**

I remember, it was one week later. You and Sam, you came back from a job. Some vampire problem in some city I didn't know. And I had stayed here like you had wanted it. You needed me save, and who was I to deny you that? I hadn't even followed you. I admit, I had thought about it, but it hadn't felt right. And I began to put more trust in you than I ever thought was possible. You would come back, and you would be whole and undamaged, and you would be whole and undamaged for me. It was only a try really, a test if I would be able to let you go without hovering over you like a ghost. And you haven't disappointed me.

And it filled me with everything I could dare to ask for, that the first thing you did, after you had entered your bunker, was to look for me. As if you needed me to recharge, to come home, to fully arrive. To really know you're save. And I can be that for you. Your peace pole.

You came to me into the room with all the dark wooden tables, with the little lamps on them, and smiled. Your hands grabbed my shoulders for a moment, when you went past me to sit down on the chair next to mine. And my eyes followed you and saw you were happy to see me. I don't know, where Sam was, maybe in his room, but it didn't even matter, not to me and not to you. The only thing mattering were we, here, here in our togethership.

"How've you been?" you asked, and it almost seemed like a riddle to me and for a minute I looked at my hands, as if I could find its solution there.

"How have you been?" I asked, because you already knew my answer, I saw it in your eyes.

"Fine," you said, as if to be surprised by it, "job's done. We're not in pieces."

And even when the shortage of your words almost seemed like you didn't want to talk, there was so much more you told me without words. And it was enough. It was enough for me. And enough for you. And perhaps I hoped for more details to your story, perhaps I hoped in general for more to happen, but in the end, perhaps we are nonetheless the ones painting on our canvases. Perhaps we were in some kind of bubble, where everything is fiction, future and prediction. But could I not see into the future and make the fiction in my head become real, I would still choose this very bubble as the place I want to be. Because only there everything feels infinite, because you make it infinite, in your never ending mortality.

" _You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful."_

 _(John Green, "The Fault in our Stars")_

Your hand settled on my arm, warm and soft, and then again somehow still holding everything I was, and you said silently, "I've missed you"

"And I have bought Scotch for you," I said just as silently, with the bottle of brown liquor in my hand, as if it was the only answer there was. You smiled and I knew, you had understood.

"I'll get some glasses," we both said at the same time, as we equally stood up. A little bit confused, no, surprised maybe, and however amused, we looked at each other and shared our quiet laugh. Again your hand found me, found my shoulder, found my face and its cheek. And you stared at me with a gaze I didn't know yet. And it was as if I saw you for the first time. Your thumb moved slowly, just once, across my rough skin, and it was as if you wanted to say something, and at the same time absolutely nothing at all. And had I first hated your quiet, it now captured me completely and I couldn't help but love all about it. And when you, suddenly and fully unexpected, like the visions in my head, like the future I wanted to see, laid your lips onto mine, just for a tiny moment really, I finally realized, how real my fiction was. How real we were.

" _I love you like a drowning man loves oxygen. And it would destroy me to have you less."_

 _(John Green, "The Fault in Our Stars"; free translation from German)_


End file.
